


Where the Wildflowers Grow

by existentialspace



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Also Child Murdering, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks!!, Blood, F/M, Gen, It's gonna be violent as fuck, LITERALLY, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, They're all gonna die, Will and El being best friends, evil government, why am I doing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-29 14:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20083609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/existentialspace/pseuds/existentialspace
Summary: When Nancy got tasked with watching me she taught me to climb the trees and play spy. We would pretend we were stalking the Capitol to find out their weaknesses. And when she got too old for it I kept coming out to the trees whenever I could. It was a puzzle, finding out which branches could support your weight and would provide the best view. If you climbed high enough in them, the trees would allow you to see the purple-blue mountains lying to the east. In school, I was taught that those mountains shielded the Capitol from outside attack. Somewhere in the tall jagged peaks were the lavish people who made the Hunger Games. Who kill children for their amusement.-Mike Wheeler is reaped alongside his sister in the 57th Hunger Games, but the Capitol has something different in mind this time.





	1. The Reaping

Every morning the sounds of the axes on the pines wakes me up. It wakes me up before Holly, but Nancy is usually gone before sunrise. Today, the axes don’t sing, but one steady thread of _ thwack thwack _still jolts me awake. Pulling myself up onto my elbows, I lean over towards the window. The one making the ax move is, in fact, my father, who stands behind our house. He is tall, but Mother is taller. Somewhat stocky, he beats the tool into a pine. I turn my gaze towards the kitchen, gently throwing off the quilt and putting my feet on the floor as not to disturb Holly. I walk over to Mother, who sits at the table with two outfits set out before her. I suppose she was once pretty, but a combination of age and working in the mill for so long has graced her face with lines and worry. Her brown hair is scraped back into a bun and her dress is faded. I place my hands on the back of one of our chairs.

“Why is he-?” I begin.

Mother looks up and shakes her head sadly. “We can’t afford to take a day off, Mikey. Even on a day like today.” She reaches over and pats one of the piles of clothes, which consisted of a blue collared shirt and some nice pants that I wouldn’t normally wear. I drum my fingers on the chair and try to forget what those clothes meant. I had only had to undergo The Reaping once before. Today would be my second. And Nancy’s sixth. 

“Where’s Nancy?” I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to talk about anything else besides today.

Mother suddenly stands up and wraps her arms around me. I can feel her begin to shake with sobs as she runs her hands through my hair, so I lean back and look her in the eyes.

“I haven’t been Reaped yet, Mamma,” I say in complete seriousness, but she just laughs and hugs me tighter.

* * *

After breakfast, Mother sends me out to find Nancy and bring her home.

“Remember the reaping starts at two!” She calls, and I nod as I run into the trees. 

As soon as the house is out of sight, I breathe deeply, spinning in a circle and taking in every bit of the day. The tesserae and Mother and Father’s fights are far from my mind. I run deeper into the woods, leaping across familiar roots and breathing in the crisp air of summer and just feeling so utterly alive. Looking forward, I spot the ridge I’m looking for. Above it stands a massive spruce. Perfect for climbing. My tree.

I pull myself onto the branches and climb higher towards the sun. I had been coming here ever since I was little. When Nancy got tasked with watching me she taught me to climb the trees and play spy. We would pretend we were stalking the Capitol to find out their weaknesses. And when she got too old for it I kept coming out to the trees whenever I could. It was a puzzle, finding out which branches could support your weight and would provide the best view. If you climbed high enough in them, the trees would allow you to see the purple-blue mountains lying to the east. In school, I was taught that those mountains shielded the Capitol from outside attack. Somewhere in the tall jagged peaks were the lavish people who made the Hunger Games. Who kill children for their amusement. The thought of it made me shudder.

Today I make it high enough to see above the treeline. I sit for a while, listening to the mockingjays and closing my eyes just to listen. 

When I open them, I see what I came up looking for. Down amidst the trees stands a girl of a slight frame holding a bow much too large for her. Her long brown hair is up in an elaborate braid that Mother taught her to do for Reaping Day. I watch her pull the bowstring back and send the arrow into the wood of a tree. 

“You’re getting better at that,” I call, gripping a branch in the tree next to the one I’m in and swinging over. Nancy looks up towards my voice and rolls her eyes.

“I told you, Mike. I know when the Reaping is. I’m not gonna be late. Mother doesn’t have to worry.” She walks over to the tree the arrow is sticking out of and pulls it out with difficulty. I reach low to the ground and lean against the trunk, sitting on a low hanging branch.

“You know we’re technically not supposed to train for the Games, right.”

“Tell that to those fuckheads The Careers.” Nancy brings the bowstring back to her cheek. I lean forward, watching with interest. Then, without warning, she suddenly changes directions and sends the arrow flying above my head. I scream, falling off the branch and barely managing to hold on with one hand.

“What the fuck Nancy!?”

She just laughs. “I’m getting better right? At this rate, I’d be good enough to volunteer next year.”

I drop to the ground, rubbing my hand against my pant leg to get some of the dirt off. “You’re not seriously thinking of volunteering?”

Nancy exhales sharply. “No, of course not dipshit. But there has to be some way for us to feed ourselves after Father gets laid off for being too old.” She pulls herself onto the branch and takes the arrow out of the wood, dropping right back onto the ground and picking up her bow. She walks to the other side of the clearing and stashes the bow under a log.

“I didn’t think he was doing that bad.”

“We had to take twice as many tesserae as before, Mike. We better hope that our tribute wins this year.” She lets out a dark, cutting laugh and begins walking back home. I follow her quickly.

* * *

The Reaping is held on the field behind Town Hall as District 7 is too large to hold all its citizens in the Square. We walk with Mother and Father and Holly for most of the way, but as soon as we reach the edge of the field Peacekeepers separate us from them and force us into lines to get our blood drawn. I watch as Nancy gets hers done. She doesn’t even flinch. I cannot say the same for myself.

I stand near the front of the crowd of boys because of my age and see Nancy in the back of the girls. She’s easy to spot because of her bright red dress, which Mother bought her specifically for Reaping Day. She stands stoic. Part of me wonders if she was half telling the truth about volunteering.

After a period of excruciating silence interrupted only by a few murmurs, District 7’s escort, a very tall woman named Gigi Xylophone takes the stage with her bright orange pantsuit and Capitol makeup. 

“Hello, District 7!” She says brightly over the microphone. A few mutterings of “Hey” and “Hello there” can be heard. She pauses for a moment, smiling the same smile. 

“Welcome to the Reaping for the 57th annual Hunger Games!”

A smattering of applause. 

“Up here with me, I have our wonderful mayor and his wife, as well as the mentor for our tributes, Mr. Murray Bauman!” 

A classy man with a very messy beard winks at the crowd, tipping a vodka shot towards Miss Gigi and then downing it. The crowd shifts. Murray Bauman was the winner of the notorious 33rd games and District 7 hadn’t had a Victor since. The rumor was he was an alcoholic with a secret rebellion against the Capitol. But those were just rumors. Gigi steps forward again.

“I guess we better begin then!”

The mood darkens significantly. Murray had set the mob at ease, but now it set in that it could be their children on that stage. The whole district begins to hold it’s breath.

“First, the girls!” Gigi steps towards one of two massive glass balls filled to the brim with paper slips. Reaching her gloved hand deep inside, I wonder how many say _ Nancy Wheeler _ on them in meticulous handwriting. And how many in the other have _ Michael Wheeler _written across them.

Gigi pulls her hand back out, her fingers wrapped tightly around one slip out of thousands. 

“And the female tribute for District 7 is... “She unfolds the slip carefully.

“Nancy Wheeler!”

I feel my stomach drop to the floor. Nancy? _ Nancy? _Who had escaped being Reaped for five years? How?

Everything seems to move in slow motion as Nancy walks towards the stage with dignity. She walks slowly, as if at any minute Gigi will scream “HAHA IT’S A JOKE! WE GOT YOU!” And she can go back to Mother. She looks so poised, but as she passes me I can see how hard it is for her not to crack. I push through the crowd to the rope separating me from her.

“Nancy?”

She glances over at me without moving her head and I see her eyes fill with tears. Holly begins to cry.

When Nancy finally takes her spot at the table Gigi smiles brightly back to the crowd. “Now, here she is! Isn’t that dress lovely? Would anyone like to volunteer for her?”

No response.

“Alrighty then!” Gigi chugs on. “Now for the boys.” She reaches over to the other glass ball and digs her hand deep inside, and I can hear each slip of paper as it passes over her skin.

Finally, she pulls one out. I close my eyes

Cheerily, she says: “And our male tribute from District 7 in the 57th annual Hunger Games is… Michael Wheeler.”

I blink, not fully registering it. Surely it must be a mistake. It can’t be both Nancy and me.

I see the boys around me parting the way to the rope. I make eye contact with Nancy on the stage, who looks horrified and confused at the same time. As I duck under the rope I see Mother, who is now fully sobbing.

I feel eyes all around me as I walk towards the stage. When I take my place, the sun is shining directly into my eyes. I look over at Nancy. She shakes her head in sadness. I force down my tears, remembering what Father said about the tributes that cried in the past.

“They’re always the first to go, son.”

“Well, well, well. It looks like we have a pair of siblings up here! That should make for quite an interesting story, shouldn’t it?”

The crowd stays silent. Gigi begins to usher me and Nancy off the stage. As we hurry along, Mother comes pushing through the crowd, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Here,” she says simply, pushing a necklace of some kind into Nancy’s hand and pulling her into an embrace. Then she notices me and cups my cheek. Her eyes are blue. Like Nancy’s. “Mike. I’m sorry.”

* * *

The train is quiet.

Apparently, we’re running late. But as we boarded the train Nancy whispered that the Peacekeepers were angry at Mother for coming through the barricade so they punished us with no goodbyes. The last we saw of Holly was her little face as the train rushed from the station. 

I ask Nancy what Mother gave her, and she pulls it out of her pocket with tenderness and lays it flat against her palm. It’s a wooden pendant with a sprawling tree carved crudely into it. A little bird sits high in the branches, and the words ‘renovare restitit’ are cut along the edge. I ask Nancy if she knows what it means and she shakes her head.

With nightfall, we gather in front of the train’s television to watch the recaps of the Reapings throughout the day.

In District One, the two top of the class tributes take the stage. The announcer announces dryly that their names are Steve Harrington and Carol O’Halla. Steve smiles up at the camera with ease, and Nancy leans forward with intrigue. When he winks, her brows furrow as she tries to hide a blush.

When Billy Hargrove, the male tribute from District Two, flashes across the screen I feel a dull pain in my chest. He stands with a hardened face as his little sister is Reaped and no one volunteers to take her place.

“I heard through the grapevine that he bribed the escort to rig the drawing so she’d be the one selected. And that he threatened all of the potential volunteers so she wouldn’t be replaced.”

The girl is around my age. She holds her chin high as the wind whips her bright red hair around her face. She doesn’t look scared. 

Just like that, the screen changes.

In District Three, a gangly seventeen-year-old named Robin stands on the stage. A kid with curly hair named Dustin stands beside her.

“Lots of young tributes this year,” Gigi comments.

The male tribute from District Six (Jonathan Byers) looks afraid of his own shadow. On the other hand, the female has a half-shaved head with a purple streak in her hair. “Her name is Kali Prasad, and she means business,” the escort whispers into the microphone.

Erica Sinclair, a mere 12 years old, is the female called for District 11. Her older brother Lucas, only two years older than her, volunteers as soon as her name is called. Nancy elbows my side. “Step up your game.”

In 12, Two kids my age are called with only the wind to take their place. Will Ryder, a scrawny kid with a bowl-cut, cries as soon as he reaches the stage. The girl, named Jane Hopper and daughter of a victor, glances over to her dad as she takes the stage. She looks over at the boy reassuringly, trying to smile but stopping almost immediately. She probably remembered smiling is a weakness.

Something about her seems different than all the others. I find myself watching her as they leave the stage, her hair bouncing near her shoulders.

After the highlight reel of the Reapings, President Brenner gives one of his signature speeches, but I’ve already clocked out. When the screen goes dark, I stand up and go down the hallway towards my room, feeling like I’m walking in sap. 

The door slides open and I fall onto the bed, not even bothering to take off my shoes. I fall into a fitful sleep, with dreams plagued by Reapings and girls named Jane who smile at me funny and suddenly I’m thrown into the arena and the pretty boy from District One plunges a knife into Nancy’s chest. As her blood seeps into the ground I hear Holly and Mother screaming and the steady _thwack thwack _of metal against wood.


	2. The Capitol

I can’t sleep, of course. When your life is ripped out of your hands by a man who seems to live forever it doesn’t do your mind any good to try to rest. If I went to sleep I would’ve had to wake up from the world where I’m not going to die. In that world, my friends and I are sitting outside the mill during lunch and discussing how hot the male tribute from District 1 is. I am certainly not thinking about how my brother and I are going to die in a week. I’m not thinking about how even if one of us were to win the other is going to die anyway and the other would have to face Mother and Holly all alone. And that breaks my heart.

I almost do fall into that world deep in the night. My eyelids are heavy and I can hear Jennifer saying “so, Steve Harrington-” when a rapid-fire of knocks come on my room’s door.

Of course, I assume it’s Gigi with some of the ‘lady’s training’ she had been talking about at dinner, so I hoist myself off the bed and wander over, expecting to have to calmly send her back to whatever lair she came from. I throw open the door. It’s not Gigi. It’s Mike.

He’s still in the clothes he wore to the Reaping, but they're messy like he's been tossing and turning. His eyes are wide with fear and his dark curly hair falls across his face. In the darkness, he looks like a less threatening version of the monsters the adults tell stories of to the children to dissuade them from playing in the woods. 

As soon as I open the door he throws his arms around me, shaking and muttering something about blood. He tries to tuck his head under my chin, but he’s almost taller than me so I have to lift my head to let him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but I shake my head.

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“You. Holly. Dead. In the Games.”

My heart drops down to my stomach, but I just bite my lip as I try to think of something to say.

“D-Do you want to sleep in here on the floor?”

He nods again.

* * *

Curled under blankets from his room, Mike falls asleep within minutes. I glance over at him from time to time and in the darkness of the early morning, I become aware for the first time that he is still a child. I always assumed he was a brat with a maturity streak; That he was around my age or older mentally, but he is still so  _ young _ . Too young. How sick of The Capitol to take away his childhood. Always wondering whether he’ll die next summer. Watching his friends be taken away from him. Never really knowing if he’ll stay alive until he's 18.

I’m leaning against the headboard when Gigi knocks.

“Breakfast in five! We reach The Capitol in half an hour!”

I stand up and gently push Mike’s shoulder to wake him up. “Breakfast soon.”

He looks from me to the door and then bolts from the room. I force down a chuckle.  _ Ah yes, Mike. The fifty-year-old man and the crazy lady are gonna laugh at you for sleeping in your older sister’s room _ . 

* * *

“Enjoy your last minutes of privacy, young ones,” Murray says as we sit down at the table. Mike (who looks extremely tired), squints at him. Murray rolls his eyes.

“Once you get to The Capitol and step onto those chariots the entire world is going to be watching every single one of your movements. The only way it stops is if you die. Even if you win.” He picks up an entire egg by his fork and shoves it into his mouth. “Now, can either of you actually hold a weapon?”

Mike snaps his head towards me. I raise my hand. “I’m decent at bow and arrow.”

Our mentor slams his hands on the table. Mike and Gigi jump. 

“FINALLY.” He shouts. “Not total incompetence. For twenty-four years I’ve had weakling tributes who couldn’t even make it past the Bloodbath. Granted, you’ll probably still die horrifically, but it’s a start.”

He stares at Mike for a second. “So for you. You can’t fight. You’re too gangly and awkward to be considered the cute young one. So what’s your angle gonna be?”

Mike glares back at him. “I don’t know, Mr. Bauman. Isn’t that supposed to be your job?”

Gigi looks up. “Look! The Capitol!”

We all rush to the window to watch the silvery skyline grow closer. At the station, there’s a crowd of people waiting to meet the tributes. Gigi waves

“Goodbye privacy. Goodbye secrets,” Murray says dryly.

* * *

The people from the Capitol are crazy.

After forcing us through the crowd of screaming dolls (at least that’s what they look like), they separate Mike and me so we can be made presentable for the chariot drive tonight.

My stylist is a petit woman with stick-straight black hair and permanent teardrop tattoos under her eyes. She goes on and on about the lumber industry and showing off our ‘roots’ as a family. I don’t listen as she talks about stage presence, or as they violate my privacy so they can make me hairless and ‘beautiful’. When one of the stylist’s assistants calls me pretty I smile vaguely but don’t respond.

The whole process could’ve been either eight hours or thirty minutes. I don’t know. But all of a sudden we’re in the stables before the promenade. District 7’s horses are a rich brown, like the chocolate in the shop in the Square that we could never buy from. My dress is a tree. Most of it is a deep green, but when I extend my arms the branches spread over a sort of webbing between my arms and the skirt. Beneath the waist are the ‘roots’, and the headdress is a crown of leaves and flowers. 

Mike’s suit is the same, except instead of a headdress the flowers and leaves are scattered around the ensemble. His famously untameable hair is styled with gel and he twitches the plastic yarrow on his shoulder whenever it annoys him. He’s staring at the back of the line, to the District 12 tributes, who are dressed in all black. The girl looks back at him and waves, and he smiles and raises his arm, but his stylist turns him away. The District 6 boy (Jonathan... something), shakes his head at the stupidity of it all. And though he can’t see me do it, I nod in agreement.

And suddenly the Promenade begins. Caesar Flickerman announces names and the chariot leaves the barn to the cheers of the Capitol citizens. One through Six go by in an instant, and the Flameman is announcing “District 7: Mike and Nancy Wheeler!”

The lights flood into my eyes but I remember not to squint. The people are cheering but I don’t fully register that it’s for me. I raise my arms, waving to them and trying to smile the smile that seems to be hardwired into Gigi. They’re throwing flowers at us. Flowers I recognize from District 7. And I wonder in my haze how they got them. 

And just like that, it’s over. President Brenner gives a speech and then we continue to the Training Center where Gigi pulls us off the chariot saying we “did fantabulously!” and Murray grimacing while he said that we could have done worse.

The elevator ride is awkward. The District 3 girl looks at me until she leaves on her floor. I swear she was plotting to kill me. The District 11 tributes look hardened as if they’ve already gone through the games. The brother’s hand is on his sister’s shoulder and they’re both staring straight ahead. I glance at Mike, who blinks at me. His hair is already resisting the gel, and a curl lays across his forehead.

Finally, it’s over. We step into our apartment, and Gigi says to go to sleep because training will start early tomorrow! I pull Mike to the side and ask if he’ll be ok, and he nods but hugs me a little tighter than he needs too.

My room’s window faces the skyline, and it’s beautiful. But it’s too different from home so I pull the blinds and lay in the dark and wait for Mike (or sleep) to come.

They never do.


	3. The Night Before

I don’t remember much of training.

Most of it I spent with Will and the girl from District 2, Max. She’s quiet, but a fierce fighter and knows how to handle almost every weapon they have in the Training Room. She taught me how to start a fire with two twigs and the hairpins they give us. We didn’t eat lunch together, but her brother always stared at me psychotically from the Careers table. She got an 8 during the Final Test.

The scores weren’t very surprising, for the most part. The only shocking part was the female tribute from District 11 getting a 7. She was so small.

Michael, the boy from District 7, got an 8. I don’t know what he showed the Gamemakers, because he mostly did the stations alone, but I found my eyes wandering to him to distract me from Max’s brother during lunch. He is disproportionately tall, and his dark hair covers his eyes so he looks sad most of the time. I remember the night of the Promenade when it was actually styled and you could see his face. I prefer it this way. 

It goes by fast. Too fast. Suddenly it’s the day before the Games and I’m wearing a dress that’s far too tight as I sit on my bed, waiting for a young woman named Effie Trinket to tell me it’s time for the Interview. 

I think of how my father, Victor of the 31st Games, would handle the whole situation as my heart beats faster and faster. I’m focusing on a small crack in the wall and remembering the words from his goodbye.

“Jane.” He had been kneeling next to the chair I was sitting in. I was crying (of course) because District 12 officials had decided to have the younger Victor Haymitch Abernathy mentor us instead of him. And me? One out of thousands? How could it be? He grabbed my hand tight and said it again. “Jane. Look at me.”

I did.

“You’re going to win, kid. And here’s how.” He took a piece of paper out of his breast pocket and slipped it into my free hand. “Those sons of bitches in The Capitol? They just want a good story. Give them a good story, and you have them wrapped around your finger. So just keep your head up and you can do it. You’re a very talented girl, and I love you. So much. Remember the people in the Capitol are stupid.”

I smiled. “And I’m not stupid.”

“JANE!” A quick succession of knocks comes on my door. I snap my head towards it, pulled out of my daydream. “JANE! We’re going to be late! COME. ON!”

“Coming!” I say in a low voice, jumping off the bed and falling immediately on the heels ‘Ms. Trinket’ gave me early that day. Pulling myself up, I wobble over and open the door. Effie looks down at me for a second, then smiles and pulls me along.

“You look wonderful. But let’s go.”

* * *

The tributes stand in a line backstage as each is called up to have their five seconds of fame with Caesar Flickerman. This year, his theme color is a bright sunburst orange, and he rocks it with nervous energy. Will and I stand in the back.

The girl from District 1 has difficulty walking on stage with her ginormous green dress. While Caesar introduces her, Will taps my arm.

“Do you have it?”

I nod, pulling out the slip of paper Dad had given me during his goodbye. Unfolding it carefully, I read it quietly to Will as the District 1 girl waltzes through her interview.

_ “Jim Hopper’s Rules for Not Dying. _

  * __Pick a skill and stick to it.__
  * _They don't want a real person. They want a character to get invested in._
  * _EAT!_
  * _No alliances (except with each other)_
  * _Survive before fight_
  * _Be the character you created. Even when it seems like you aren’t being watched._
  * _Expect and prepare for anything._
  * _Head up, eyes open. Don’t be stupid.”_

The rest of the letter didn’t seem important. I had never read it. After I finish the rules, I look up at Will again. He’s got a worried look in his eyes and his hair has come undone. I gently point to it, and he brushes it back, muttering to himself frantically. He turns around, throwing his arms in the air.

“Hey, Will.” I turn him back around. “Remember. The scores don’t matter. The interview does.”

He’d gotten a 5.

Will nods. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, El.”

He walks over to the side and begins pacing, practicing the answers Haymitch gave him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Steve Harrington go on stage to thunderous applause, sporting a brilliant white tuxedo. I lean against the wall, folding the letter and trying to slow my breathing, which has shortened immensely since I read it. Do I know what I want my “character” to be? What if I trip on the heels again? I fidget with the high collar on my black dress, but my mind continues to race with: _ What if I never see my father again? What if I can’t protect Will? How will I die? What if I can never talk to the boy from District 7- _

I focus on a spot on the curtain and let my mind drift. It’s the only way I can ease it.

Will and I had been friends since we were eight.

_ “Robin Buckley!” _is called and a girl with a dress made of wires walks on stage.

That’s the reason he still calls me El, an old nickname based on my middle name. I went by it before I started school. It was a way to remember my mother.

When the District 7 boy asks Caesar to call him Mike instead of Michael, it is the first time I hear his voice. It's earthy but higher than I expected. When the interviewer asks him about his relationship with his sister, he says “What relationship?” and the Capitol citizens lose it.

My mind wanders and weaves around Will and his Mom. He lives _ (lived. _ I correct myself_) _alone with her in a small house near the edge of town. She works in the mines, but neither she nor Will looks like they’re from the Seam. Her dusky red hair sticks out amongst the other miners, and they’re both incredibly pale for living in District 12. Will has his mother’s eyes.

“...quite a legacy to live up to! Please welcome, from beautiful District 12 and daughter of the legendary Jim Hopper, Jane Hopper!” echoes through my ears and the stage manager is pulling me up the steps and Will gives me a thumbs up and suddenly I’m on stage in front of the whole Capitol. I take a deep breath as I walk and remember. _ Head up, eyes open. Don’t be stupid. _

The cheering makes my ears ring, but I take a seat next to Mr. Flickerman.

“So, Jane. anything you weren’t expecting about the Capitol?”

I almost smile, but remember Dad’s advice. _ Create a character. _

Turning the smile into what I hope is a mysterious one, I shrug. “I don’t know, Mr. _ Flameman _. Why don’t you tell me?”

A few people laugh, but that’s not good enough. You haven’t won unless you’ve won them all. I mentally slap myself in the face.

Caesar smiles good-naturedly. “I bet your dear old dad told you all about the Capitol growing up. Any insider details about the home life of one of our greatest Victors?”

I almost want to punch his perfect smile in the face. _ Your people turned him into an alcoholic with an addiction to pill-popping. Sure, Caesar, I’ll give you the inside scoop. _

“Well, he’s never really good about doing the dishes,” I say carefully.

Laughter from the audience. I force down a smile. 

“Looks like we have time for one last question, Miss Hopper.” Caesar’s voice gets softer and he points towards me. “What have _ you _got to offer to these Games?”

I know it’s cliche, but I say with a completely straight face: “Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

And then the crowds are cheering and my ears are ringing again so I don’t hear what Caesar says as he raises my arm in the air and sends me off the stage.

Will’s interview goes well, and then it’s over. Effie and Haymitch take us back to the Training Center, throw us in our rooms, and tell us to go to sleep.

* * *

I’m outside her house again.

Almost every night, it’s the same house. The one a few doors down from Dad. The one surrounded by flowers. I don’t normally, but I walk up the stairs and through the door this time.

She’s still in the rocking chair.

Mamma stares blankly ahead when I kneel next to her. She whispers “Breathe. Sunflowers. Top of the hill. Rainbow. No, please.” in a mindless loop. I’ve asked the mayor if I could see the tapes of her Games to know what they mean, but he didn’t let me watch them.

I don't usually do anything, but tonight I shake Mamma’s arm. Always a bad idea.

She whips around and grabs my arm, smiling as she continues to stare blankly ahead. Her words are different now. Different than before.

“Breathe, Eleanor. When the countdowns over run away.” Her nails dig into my skin.

“In District 9 all I ever see are sunflowers.” I try to pull away, but she comes closer.

“QUICK! Top of the hill means we have the higher ground! The rainbow meant I was safe. No, don’t kill me, please. My brother, he needs me.”

She’s screaming the words now. I close my eyes and shake my head.

“NO. PLEASE.”

I jolt awake in my bed, drenched in sweat. I’m in the Capitol. I’m safe.

And I go into the Hunger Games, the thing that made my mother catatonic, tomorrow at first light.

Lightly and cautiously, I make my way to the living room and to the window, where I sit and watch the celebration in the streets continue. Celebrating my demise.

Would Mamma be proud?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
\- GAMES NEXT CHAPTER WOOOOOO  
\- I skipped training because I don't like writing about the Capitol and I want to write about the Games!


	4. The Morning Of

“Mike.”

I groan, turning over and throwing the pillow over my head.

“Mike, come on. We have to go.”

I remove the pillow and look up. Nancy stands above me, her arms crossed and biting her lip. She’s still wearing her pajamas. Why is she wearing her pajamas?

Then it hits me.

_ Oh. _

I sit up from the floor of Nancy’s room and pull myself to my feet. Outside the doors, I can see Gigi and Murray, who pretend like they aren’t listening. Nancy sniffs. I feel my feet turn to stone. My sister puts her arm around my shoulder. “You ready?”

_No._

I nod. 

* * *

From the roof, you can see past the edge of The Capitol’s reaches. While we wait, I squint, and finally, I see the trees. My breath catches in the back of my throat. District 7 seems so close. Like I could close my eyes and jump and I’d be there. 

I almost do it. I’m reaching my hand out when the wind picks up and a hovercraft appears out of nowhere. Nancy jumps, and I do too.

The woman who gives me my tracker calls me sweetheart and asks if me I’m nervous. I try to answer as nicely as I can without screaming that she is causing it too. And it still hurts like hell, no matter how much she sugar coats it.

Avoxes bring out a table loaded with food, and I force myself to eat, even though I’m not hungry. 

When the windows go dark, I remind myself to take deep breaths, sitting next to Nancy. The hovercraft lands, and right before we’re separated in the tunnel, my sister grabs my arm. 

“Don’t go to the Cornucopia. Runaway and find me. Ok?” She says, hushed.

“Yes,” I respond shakily.

She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Do you promise?”

A Peacekeeper pulls her away. She tries to resist, but they manage to force her down the other tunnel. 

“I promise!” I try to call after her. I don’t know if she heard me. Standing in the hall for a few seconds, I watch her go until Gigi taps the top of my head and leads me down the other hall. In the end, there’s a small room with a metal tube in the center. My clothes for the arena, a coat like the ones we’d wear in the late fall in District 7, a shirt, fleece pants, and hiking boots. The array sets off alarm bells in my head. A few years ago, the entire arena had been a barren tundra. Most of the tributes froze to death. The ratings hadn’t been high with the Capitol, so no one expected they’d do it again. I change silently, and then we wait.

* * *

“It’s time, dear.” 

I raise my head to Gigi’s eyes. She’s crouching by my side, and maybe it’s the dim light but I swear that she looks sad for me.

“Ok,” I respond, pushing myself off the bench and walking over to the daunting metal tube. My hands are curled into fists, and I try to look as intimidating as possible. I step onto the small metal platform and turn around. Gigi smiles and brushing back some of my hair. 

“Good luck, Michael.” The tube closes, and I’m ascending. _ Oh God, I’m ascending. _ Our escort fades from view and I’m staring at darkness, so I look up. A small circle of blue sky smiles down at me and I suck in a breath. The circle grows larger until I’m hit with a blast of cold air. I’m above ground now and my eyes swivel around frantically. The platforms stand in a semicircle facing the Cornucopia. Behind it are mountains. _ Mountains. _

A booming voice calls out: “Let the fifty-seventh annual Hunger Games begin!” and the countdown begins. We have sixty seconds to figure out what to do. I scan the tributes for Nancy, finally spotting her at the right end of the semicircle. Mother’s necklace is draped outside of her jacket, and she makes eye contact with me. She gestures down to my feet and then away from the Cornucopia. Behind me. The message is very clear. _ Run. Run away. We’ll meet in whatever is behind me. _

I quickly glance behind me. It seems as if the mountains encircle the entire arena, but behind me is a forest. It’s probably 100 feet away, so if I run fast enough I can make it there without dying. I look down to the grass near me, where a few yards in front of me lies a backpack. I look back at Nancy and nod, but her eyes aren’t on me.

_ FIVE _

I position myself to go for the backpack.

_ FOUR _ _   
_On either side of me are the District 10 boy and Robin Buckley, the tech genius.

_ THREE _

The wind whips my face. If I don’t think about it too hard, I’m back in District 7.

_ TWO _

Eyes on Nancy, I balance on the balls of my feet.

_ ONE _

My ears start to ring as soon as the gunshot goes off, but I leap off the platform and bolt for the backpack. I’m reaching out my arm to grab it when I’m tackled from behind. Seems that the District 10 boy had the same idea as I did. 

I flip myself over and try to push myself up but he’s pinned my arms to the ground so I do the only thing I can think of. I kick him in the balls.

The boy cries out in pain and releases my arms just long enough for me to kick my way out from under him and leap onto the backpack. I slid it onto my shoulders, but it seems that Cow Boy recovers easily from being kicked where the sun don’t shine. He grabs me from behind and throws me back onto the dirt surprisingly far. He reaches down and I kick up but he catches my foot and I close my eyes embracing the inevitable when the weight on my foot slackens. I open my eyes and the District 10 boy is spitting up blood. I scuttle away as he falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out of his back. Breathing heavy, I leap to my feet. And I spot her.

Near the Cornucopia entrance stands Nancy, bow in hand and quiver slung across her back. We lock eyes, and I can see her frantically trying to think of ways to get to me but knives and spears are flying and if we wait any longer one of us is going to die. She screams a word, and though I can’t hear it cuts through the cacophony.

_ Go. _

I bolt. 

Swinging my arms I see a mop of red hair running into a different section of the woods and a voice screaming “BITCH” and my lungs are burning as I enter the treeline and I whip my head to the side to try to call to her, but my foot catches on a root and I go flying through the air. Like a mockingjay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. The Career Quits Her Job

When I don’t know what else to do, I run.

It was stupid of me, pissing off my step-brother. He already hated me, which was evident from the time he volunteered me for the Games so he could watch me die. He’d watched me throughout training, told me exactly what to say for the Interview, and expected me to stay with the other Careers and be his little lap dog until he got bored and decided to murder me for fun.

Fuck that.

When his back is turned, I grab a backpack and a handful of knives. I run towards the woods and don’t look back. I’m halfway there when I hear him scream.

“MAX. MAX. GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW.” 

I close my eyes and force my feet to beat faster into the ground. If I could just make it through the treeline and hide. Maybe I could find the District 12 kids from training. All I know is that I am not going to die on that bastard's terms.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? BITCH.”

I hear whistling, so I jump to the side. A spear pierces into the ground near my left foot, so I try to go faster. He could catch me he could.

My mouth is dry from the sprinting and the world looks like it’s spinning. I almost lose my footing, but glance to the left as I enter the forest. Fifty feet away and also running into the trees is the boy from District 7. He raises his hand and I keep looking and he begins to shout something but as soon as he enters the trees he disappears. And I know I need to find him but I can hear Billy still screaming. So I push forward, careful to keep my footing as the ground tilts steadily upwards. And I wonder how long I’ll have to go before he can’t find me anymore.

* * *

I lost track of how long I walked. How long I ran. When the sounds of the Bloodbath fade and I can't hear Billy’s yells anymore I still run a little while longer. My legs wobble underneath me and I just want to curl in a ball and wait for night, but I know I need to find water. My throat and mouth are completely dry and I stopped sweating a while ago.

Finally, I drop down on a rock to check what exactly inside the backpack I grabbed. Two packs of crackers, a flashlight, a length of rope, and a weird box with a red button on top. I slip the handful of knives I grabbed at the Cornucopia into it and pull myself off the rock with difficulty. I’ve got to keep walking. 

The sun is slanting off the mountain when I hear two voices. Quickly, I pull out a knife with a serrated edge and stand my ground. I’m fairly certain it isn’t Billy, he wouldn’t stray this far from the Cornucopia, but I’m not taking any chances. 

The voices come closer, and I can begin to make out words. It’s a young girl and an older boy. 

“It wouldn’t have hurt to at least have woken him up.”

“Lukey-pookey. I don’t know if it’s dawned on you, but for there to be a winner, there have to be losers too. Besides, The Careers probably found him-”

They push through the trees and I pose myself to attack.

It’s the District 11 tributes. The Sinclairs.

The boy, Lucas notices me first. “Holy- holy shit!”

His sister dives down and picks a rock off the ground. “Stay back, Career!”

I stick the knife in my back pocket and hold up my hands. “Wait! I don’t mean any harm!”

Lucas squints. “Waitaminute. I thought-”

“I thought your brother was a psycho and you’d be stickin’ with him. Not going all mutiny.” She turned to her brother. “It’s probably a trap.”

“It’s not.” I cross my arms. “They would've attacked by now if it was, and besides, I hate my stepbrother. I ran away as soon as I could.”   
The girl rolls her eyes. “Prove it.”

I look around me, then hold out my arms in disbelief. “Do you  _ see  _ Billy? Or Steve or Carol?” 

Lucas nods. “Seems legit.” He steps towards me and we shake hands. His hands are sweaty and he's looking at me funny. “We know where there’s water, Mayfield.”

How’d he know my last name? Nevermind. The more important issue is they don’t have any weapons. Lucas’s ear is bleeding and his sister has a scratch on her arm. I wince, feeling the knife in my back pocket like a weight.

“You IDIOT.” The little Sinclair stomps her foot. “You’re going to get us killed! This? And you wanted to help that passed out guy in the woods-”

“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “Who?”

She tries to speak, but Lucas cuts her off. “Erica, shut up.” He turns back towards me. “Near the creek we found, there was this kid. He was passed out. Had blood all over his shirt. Should’ve looted him, but figured the Careers would have their way with him soon enough.”

Ok, it was the District 7 kid.

“Take me to him.”

“What?”

“I need water. And it’s getting dark. And no one deserves to die by Billy’s hand.”

Erica and Lucas look at each other and sigh.

“Ok then, guess we’re doing this.”

\----

“How do we wanna do this?” 

We all stand around the District 7 boy, who is indeed unconscious.

Erica shrugs. “Your idea to come here. I’m not contributing.”   
Lucas smacks the back of her head lightly and looks at me. “Any ideas Max?”

Without missing a beat, I lean over the boy and smack the side of his face. He takes a sharp inhale and sits up, opening his eyes and looking around. 

“Wow,” Lucas says. “That was violent.”

“It works,” I respond. I crouch in front of the District 7 boy. “You good?”

“Yeah, I guess. What happened?”

“You fell,” Erica says. “Passed out. Lucky we found you before the Careers did.”

I open my mouth, but Lucas shakes his head. 

“Nice to meet you all, I guess. I’m Mike Wheeler.” He pulls himself to his feet and notices the darkening sky. “So does this mean we have an alliance?”

Lucas and Erica look between themselves. Erica finally nods, exasperated, and Lucas puts his palm on Mike’s. I do the same, smiling at the first people not trying to actively kill or use me in a long time.

Like I said. Fuck Billy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY. Max POV! This chapter was supposed to be longer but I'm tired so I split it into two! Don't worry though, the angst is coming soon.   
Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Here are some notes:  
For the most part, the POV will be changing each chapter unless it must stay the same. I will only say the character the POV is from outright if the switch is in the middle of a chapter.  
I'll try to update every day. The lengths of chapters will vary because of this.  
Thanks again!


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